


Speaking Frankly

by YoureMySunshine



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Humor, Is a Hotdog a sandwich?, M/M, POV Outsider, Translation Available, hotdogs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:01:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24383974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YoureMySunshine/pseuds/YoureMySunshine
Summary: Marta opened up her Hot dog stand just when the Internet went wild with a new question.Is a hot dog a sandwich?
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 65
Kudos: 178





	Speaking Frankly

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: [Priest_of_yaoi_cult](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Priest_of_yaoi_cult/pseuds/Priest_of_yaoi_cult) has translated this into Russian, which you can find [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/9644262)!

Marta saw them coming again. They always asked for something strange, but they always tipped well. 

“Marta, my dear, I was wondering if you could give me a hot dog wrapped in lettuce?” said Mr. Fell, glaring at his sunglass-wearing partner. 

“That's cheating!” objected Sunglasses. 

“Of course, sir, that's a common request. I have that option here,” Marta said, wrapping up a hot dog. 

Sunglasses scowled, then smiled. “Will you give me a hot dog between two pieces of bread?” he asked. 

Used to requests like this from these two, Marta pulled open the little drawer always full of whatever they asked for, and gave him a hot dog diagonally placed between two pieces of the fancy sourdough bread she found there. (Reminder: scratch bread off the shopping list.)

Sunglasses took a bite. “Oh, this is repulsive, Angel. Not a proper hot dog at all,” he said, handing her a fifty-pound note. She knew from experience that he did not want change. 

“Thank you, Marta,” said Mr. Fell, grabbing his partner’s hand and beginning to argue about definitions once more.

***

Marta first met them a few days after opening up her cart. Mr. Waistcoat (Call me Mr. Fell, dear) had stopped by to chat and introduce himself as a regular of St. James’ Park. He bought a hot dog (quite regular) and sat on the nearby bench to eat it. Then his friend had appeared. She hadn’t heard the particulars of the conversation, but she did hear the usual dreaded words coming from Sunglass’s mouth.

“You know, I’ve been stirring up a lot of debate lately on the internet, Angel. Been wondering about definitions, maybe you can help me. So, tell me: is a hot dog a sandwich?”

***

After that, things between the two men simply exploded, and they became her most frequent customers. Even outside of peak season, she made sure to open up every day for lunch, knowing she would get Sunglasses or Waistcoat stopping by with some strange request. She quickly learned how to use her little drawer, and decided to never question what was a steady stream of income. Some of the more noteworthy requests were:

\- Hot dogs with condiments such as ranch dressing, olive oil, soy sauce, pesto, and salsa.

\- Hot dogs made out of every type of meat in various sizes. 

\- Hot dogs cut up either lengthwise or crosswise.

\- Hot dogs in bread, rice, taco shells (paired with the salsa), baguettes, and crepes. After the crepes, Mr. Fell didn’t talk to his companion for a week. However, Sunglasses came by and bought the remaining crepes, sans hot dogs, in what she assumed was an apology. 

\- Hot dog splits, made up with ice cream and chocolate sauce. (Marta had to admit that one made her feel a little ill.) 

\- Various specialty toppings, including quail eggs, mashed potatoes, honeyed dormice, rose petals, monkey brain, almonds, peanuts, candyfloss, and mint leaves. 

***

Marta was never quite sure which one was arguing that the hot dog was a sandwich, and which one was arguing the opposite. When she first met them, Mr. Fell had taken the view that the hot dog was most certainly not a sandwich. Sunglasses, however, had held firm. 

“Angel, I was there when the Earl of Sandwich invented sandwiches. They just have to be held in one hand so you can hold your cards in the other hand. A brilliant bit of tempting on my part, it meant he never had to get up from the card table.”

“You fiend, depriving a man of his rightful lunch. But if the only thing that matters is that you can hold a sandwich in one hand, surely a large sub sandwich wouldn’t be a sandwich, and a taco would be. That’s ridiculous.”

“The structure is the same, though. Meat between two pieces of bread. Sandwich.”

“But not all sandwiches are meat between two pieces of bread. Is a caprese a sandwich even without meat?”

And so, their arguments continued. However, their arguments were never consistent. They switched off on positions every few months. Mr. Fell had bought several books from her (her drawer was very surprised) on the history of the hot dog. One book had been thrown at a duck in rage the same year Marta’s youngest started Uni, but for the most part their arguments seemed lighthearted. 

***

After ten years, Marta was ready to close up the cart. Her children were all out of school now, and she was sure to be drafted to care for grandchildren in a few years. Before that, she thought she would use some of her savings to travel, and eat, and never so much as look at another hot dog again. 

On her last day, Mr. Fell and Mr. Crowley (who had finally introduced himself and apologized for throwing a book at a duck) stopped by to purchase one final hot dog. 

“The end of an era, Marta,” smiled Mr. Fell. “Our little walks in St. James’ will never be the same without you here.”

“This might be for the best, Mr. Fell. After all, it can’t be good for you two to eat so many hot dogs, even if you do shake things up with different ingredients!” said Marta. She handed over a perfectly normal hot dog. 

Mr. Crowley also bought a normal hot dog, and asked if she could check her little drawer for a nice bottle of wine. Sure enough, there were two celebratory bottles there. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Marta gave them one, and looked forward to drinking the other with her family that night. She had never asked what kind of magical creature they were, and neither ever seemed to notice anything strange. But if her guardian angels wanted to take the form of a pair of hot dog obsessed lovers, who was she to argue?

The two sat down at their bench, eating their hot dogs. 

“My dear, I have enjoyed our little discussions. It’s been nice to argue about something trivial, instead of our old debates. I will miss the little treats you think of for me as toppings,” said Mr. Fell, finishing off the last bite. 

“Thanks Angel. Although, I’ve been meaning to ask you something else. Another important question has come up and I wanted your opinion. It’s something we can discuss in the mornings, if we do end up, uh, sharing a kitchen.”

“Of course we will, that’s why you’re moving in, love. What is it, my dear?”

“Well… is cereal a soup?”


End file.
